For quite some time now I’ve been trying to read Jonathan Franzen’s Freedomwithout having to actually buy it and give that condescending fancypants any money. A library would seem to be the obvious choice, but my cousin informed me that there is a rather large late fee associated with our old address so I’ve been avoiding it. Then, this weekend, my boyfriend and I headed to the center of town to get breakfast at a coffee shop before walking over to a plant sale where a local community farm was selling heirloom tomato plants. And it just so happened that the library I can’t set foot in was also having its annual book sale that day.
I’d never actually been to one of these book sales before. I assumed it would be filled with books like the ones I donate to the library every year: old textbooks, stuff I inherited and never read, and a dictionaries no one needs anymore. There was a lot of that. I even found myself wondering if some of the books I saw on the tables were mine, but I headed straight for the fiction table and almost immediately spotted a hardcover copy of Freedom. An old man was in my way and he didn’t look like he was in a hurry to move along. He wasn’t like a frail old man or anything. He was tall, and I’d like to think he’s a runner. I say this because I practically had to elbow him out of the way before the book vultures could swoop in and steal my chance to screw Jonathan Franzen out of his royalty. Continue reading